


There's No Shame in It

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Mamma Mia! (Movies)
Genre: Best Friends, Developing Friendships, Female Friendship, First Meetings, Gen, Origin Story, Oxford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 18:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: "So… on three, then?”And on three… they made music.  It was everything Donna had always imagined it could be.  The harmonies, the descants, the way their three voices blended into something so much bigger than any one of them could have been on their own.  It was every reason why she’d never understood her mother’s clinging to a solo career.  Why would you ever want to sing alone when you could sing like this?





	There's No Shame in It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firstbreaths](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstbreaths/gifts).



Well-manicured lawns, well-manicured people. Tasteful décor, just posh enough to be elegant without being ostentatious. A feeling of age, of weight, of tradition, to the wood-paneled halls. The essence of history distilled into the heavy stones of the old city wall that still ran the length of, that’s right: Longwall Street. The smell of opportunity in the air, if one was bold enough to take it. Yes, Tanya thought with a smile, Oxford suited her quite as well as she had expected it would.

It had taken Tanya all of a morning to settle into her rooms at New College—so named because, though it had been built in the 14th century, it was still newer than the older colleges at Oxford, a fact that boggled the mind if one thought about it for too long—and had spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the town, admiring the sites, the parks, and the halls of New College. She’d considered phoning her family to let them know she’d arrived, but one look at the telephone rates had decided her on posting a very long letter, instead. Her family wasn’t destitute by any stretch, but there was spending and then there was Spending… and Tanya was spending enough of the family fortune simply by choosing to go to college abroad.

As the hour stretched on into the early evening, foot traffic picked up in town: shop workers piling out of their shops and heading home, single folks heading out to the pubs for their evening meals, and an increasing number of young men and women in Oxford uniforms making their way inside the walls for their first supper in the dining halls, a formal affair that suited Tanya’s sense of moment just fine. Tanya joined the flow of the latter, only mildly self-conscious at not being dressed in her own uniform for the event. Her height, it seemed, meant that they’d had no standard female uniforms in stock when she arrived. She had been assured they would have them by the start of term, for any other important functions she would have to attend, but for now… well. Tanya was no stranger to standing out. In fact, she craved it as much as she craved the opportunities afforded her by attending Oxford. Tanya Chesham was going to make something of herself, and Oxford was going to help her to do it. And if she turned a few heads on the way up the ladder of success, then as far as she was concerned… so much the better.

* * *

“Watch it!”

Rosie jumped back up onto the sidewalk, heart in her throat and stomach quivering as a young boy on a bicycle sped through the space she’d been occupying until five seconds prior. As she stood there, gasping for air and scowling at the boorish oaf who’d nearly run her down, Rosie wondered—not for the first time, either—what she was even doing here. She could be home with her family, with her school friends, with a place on the family farm, and with a marriage lined up within the next year: even a family of her own, if she wanted it.

That was really the point, though, wasn’t it? Rosie didn’t want it. It was what her mum had done and her mum before her. It was what all the women in her family had done. And there was no shame in it, really there wasn’t, but that wasn’t the life for her. Maybe there was something wrong with her that the thought of settling down and starting a family left her feeling trapped inside… but she didn’t think so. Hundreds of women, thousands of women, were choosing having careers over starting families. They were going to university. They were making something of themselves—something more than wives and mothers. And Rosie wanted to be part of that, even if she had to defy her parents to do it.

But first she had to get to the dining hall without getting killed by crazy people on bicycles.

Rosie tried once more to step into the crosswalk but jumped back before she’d even gone two steps. The second bicycle rider sped on through without so much as an acknowledgment. Just when she was about ready to give up and find another street to try to cross at, she felt the presence of someone else beside her. She turned to her right and looked up… and up… and up.

The woman had legs that went on for days, boosted even higher by the platforms of her shoes. Her outfit was meticulous, just chic enough to be trendy but speaking of an elegance that lent it a timeless air all the same. Her hair was smooth and shiny and _perfect_ , every strand in place. Her make-up highlighted every feature without calling attention to itself, and Rosie suddenly felt as much a clumsy oaf as those idiots on bicycles just from standing next to her. But then she looked down and smiled.

“I’ve crossed far more frightening corners than this in my day. Need a hand?”

Oh. Of course. Though there was an upper class drawl to her speech, nothing could mask that accent. American. What was an American doing at Oxford? Didn’t they have enough universities in America? Still, Rosie wasn’t about to look a gift walking buddy in the mouth, even if she was an American. “Please!”

Moments later, Rosie’s arm firmly tucked in her own, the American had walked them across the street. Rosie still couldn’t believe how she’d done it. She’d simply stepped off the curb, head held high… and walked. A third bicycle had come careening towards them as they’d neared the opposite side of the street, and Rosie’s new friend had turned and stared him down. He’d crashed into a lamppost to avoid hitting them. When they stepped up onto the other sidewalk, the woman had smiled the kind of smile a cat would smile if they’d just pilfered a whole saucer of cream, inclined her head one last time, and walked off before Rosie had gathered her wits enough to catch her name. Bugger. Well, it wasn’t that large a town and it was an even smaller college. Surely they’d run into each other again, and next time, Rosie would introduce herself before she missed her chance.

* * *

Tanya sailed through her first week of classes. Her uniforms were still not ready—only two more days, she’d been assured—but to her mind, that was all to the good. It never hurt to stand out. In the sea of black skirts and white blouses at matriculation, Tanya had been resplendent in the boldest of colors. Blues, golds, and the richest of plums. If she was going to stand out anyway for her height, then as far as she was concerned, it was best to give people a real reason to stare—to stare and remember. It was all part of phase II of her Oxford plan. Phase I, of course, was to achieve admittance and successfully complete a course in something of which the peerage would approve, like the classics. Or history and politics. Perhaps philosophy. 

Phase II, on the other hand, was to land a suitable husband. Preferably a titled one. With money. Loads of it. But Tanya wasn’t picky. She’d settle for land, as well. Unfortunately for phase II, the only meaningful encounter she’d had in the last week had been with a poor fellow fresher who’d been too timid to cross a public street on her own. Granted, she’d been adorable in her own way, but not exactly husband material. And so, it had been high time to find yet another way to stand out, and she’d chosen the choir. The world-renowned choir.

She’d been laughed out of the hall.

There were admissions procedures, she’d been told. The choir was only for choral scholars, she’d been told. The choir was for serious musicians only, not for little girls who wanted to twitter and warble to ensnare a husband. The _nerve_. As though Tanya Chesham had ever twittered _or_ warbled. Well, fine. If they didn’t want her, then she didn’t want them, either. She’d show them. They’d be sorry they’d turned her away without so much as hearing her sing. But in the meantime, she had more important things to worry about—phase I wasn’t going to take care of itself, and without phase I she didn’t stand a chance at phase II. Gathering her dignity about her like a cloak, Tanya left the choir hall behind her to seek out the library, taking no small pleasure in the number of heads—male and female—that she turned on the way.

* * *

The gentle hum of background noise from the pub was a welcome relief after the hustle and bustle of the first week of classes. Rosie settled into a corner table with her food—simple fare that wouldn’t have been out of place on her mother’s table—and tucked into it with a soft smile and an appreciative moan. This was what she’d been missing: the simple comfort foods of home, the cozy atmosphere of a pub that catered to its locals, and a cool pint of ale. That wasn’t to say that she wasn’t fed well at the college. She was. It just wasn’t the same, even if she couldn’t have explained why if you’d paid her to do it.

About halfway through her shepherd’s pie, Rosie became aware that she had an audience. Lush golden curls and a cupid’s bow mouth adorned the face of a girl who couldn’t be any older than Rosie was. She was draped across a nearby bench, casual, almost irreverent, in the way she sprawled across it, taking up far more space than a tiny thing like her should have been able to take up. And there was something in the wrinkle of that upturned nose, the quirk of those lips, the dancing light in eyes just far enough in shadow that Rosie couldn’t tell their color… this was the kind of girl her mum would have said was trouble through and through. Rosie didn’t think she looked like trouble. Rosie thought she looked like she was having the time of her life.

As soon as their gazes met, the woman left her bench to come join Rosie in her booth. She leaned in close, her lips stretching into an even wider smile as though preparing to share a secret. “You know… just between you and me, if you’re going to make noises like that over your food, you should probably be prepared for random strangers wandering over hoping for a bite.”

…another American? Coming out of the woodwork, they were! Were there no more British people smart enough to get into Oxford? Bloody hell. That was what Rosie thought. What she said was: “A bite of what?”

Blond and curly leaned back against the bench and laughed. That laugh was full and rich, and it sent shivers down Rosie’s spine. She wanted to hear it again. Through her laughter, the woman shook her finger. “I’d meant the food, but you make a good point. As sinful as those noises are, they might be enough to make someone want a bite out of you, too!”

Cheeks heating under the force of the woman’s gaze, Rosie ducked her head and mumbled, “Well, neither one’s happened, yet, so I’ll thank you not to make fun. It’s been a long, damned week.”

“Amen to that, sister!” And then, bold as you please, the woman reached across the table with her own fork and snagged a forkful of Rosie’s shepherd’s pie. Rosie was about to protest when the woman let out a low moan of her own. Rosie looked up just in time to see her eyes flutter shut and her fingers raise to press against her lips as she chewed. Rosie swallowed hard, all thoughts of appropriate responses flying clear out of her head.

“Dear God, that’s good. I take back any and all teasing. That’s worth as much moaning and groaning as you want to do over it.” As the woman’s lips stretched into an even wider smile, softly crinkling the corners of her eyes, she held out her hand. “Donna Sheridan. Since I stole some of your food, the least I can do is give you my name in case you want to return the favor someday, right?”

Rosie shook Donna’s hand, thoughts still racing each other around in her head far too fast for her to say anything intelligible in response to the even faster whirlwind that was Donna. It wasn’t until Donna had gotten back up and turned away that Rosie managed to blurt out: “Rosie Mulligan! And you’re welcome!”

…idiot. _Idiot_. What a stupid thing to say! Only… Donna certainly didn’t look like she thought it was stupid. Her smile had softened, and she turned back long enough to pat Rosie on the cheek and say, “Thank you, Rosie. I won’t forget I owe you one. A Sheridan always pays their debts.” And with that, she was off into the crowd, leaving Rosie standing half out of her seat and wondering what the ever-loving hell had just happened.

* * *

Plunk. Plunk-plunk. Plink. Plink-plink-plink. Dun-dunnnnnnn.

Tanya huffed softly to herself as she raised her head, instinctively seeking out the source of the noise to fix a glare in its direction. A piano. Someone was plunking out randomly meandering notes on a piano. Today of all days. Didn’t everyone have exams to study for? Who had the patience for atonal plucking?

Before Tanya could work her way out from under her books, however, that meandering plunking shifted, grouping itself together into short musical phrases, then into longer phrases. Within another 30 seconds, Tanya had the basic shape of the melody, and in another 30 seconds, she found herself humming a harmony under her breath. Moments later she stopped herself, irritated at having been so easily swept up… until the plunker started to sing.

_”I was sick and tired of everything… when I called you last night from Glasgow…”_

The voice was soft, sweet, but with the underlying suggestion of greater strength, greater range. This was a voice with potential, and Tanya could no more ignore it than she could step out of her room in her pajamas with her hair in rollers. Exams forgotten, Tanya packed up her books and went in search of her mystery singer.

_”Facing twenty thousand of your friends, how can anyone be so lonely? Part of a success that never ends, still I'm thinking about you only…”_

It didn’t take long. There were only so many places in the common rooms that could house a piano, and the continued singing made it even more a case of child’s play. Still, when Tanya eventually found her mystery musician, she didn’t quite believe it. Tousled blond curls framed a heart-shaped face which was turned down towards the keys in a moue of concentration. She wore a peasant blouse over a pair of cut-off denim shorts and simple white tennis shoes. She looked more like a stowaway waif who belonged in one of the grade schools in the area than she did like she belonged at Oxford. She looked far too young, far too unsure, and when she realized she had an audience, she jerked her hands off the keys and jumped to her feet as though she’d been caught stealing.

Tanya smiled, a slow, lazy smile, as she lounged against the doorframe. “Please. That was lovely. Don’t stop on my account.”

A deep blush suffused the girl’s cheeks, and her hands fluttered momentarily at her sides before clasping tightly together. Tanya winced at the force of the subsequent wringing but didn’t offer any further words. Eventually the girl said, “It’s nothing. Just play tunes. Nothing real.”

Tanya’s smile widened. Wouldn’t you know? Another American. Looked like she wasn’t alone among all these Brits, after all. Stepping forward, Tanya shook her head. “Nonsense. It sounded perfectly real to me. Besides, even if it hadn’t been, who says that every song ever written has to be a deep, existential exploration of the meaning of life? Why can’t a song simply make you feel good when you listen to it?”

The girl slowly stopped wringing her hands and dared to look up. The smile she bestowed on Tanya drooped around the edges, equal parts appreciation of the compliment and melancholy. “To hear my mother tell it, songs like that are a waste of time for both the songwriter and the listener.”

“And who is your mother that you would believe that just because she said it?”

“Ruby Sheridan.”

Tanya’s thoughts ground to a screeching halt. She’d heard, of course, that the superstar’s daughter was to be attending Oxford. It had been in all the entertainment papers, most of which she followed religiously. Tanya had just never imagined, even in her wildest dreams, that she might meet that daughter. Gathering her scattered wits proved to be a bit of a task, but after a moment, Tanya managed it with a firm clearing of her throat. “You’re Donna, then.”

Donna ducked her head in a small nod of acknowledgement. “That’s me.”

It took Tanya all of five seconds to make up her mind from there. Pushing past Donna, she sat down on the piano bench and patted the spot next to her. When Donna sat, Tanya leaned in close, bumping their shoulders together. “Why don’t we see if this song of yours sounds any more real with a little accompanying harmony, hm?”

Donna’s return smile warmed places inside Tanya that she’d long since forgotten that she had. Forget exams. Forget the stupid choir. Forget phase I and phase II. Tanya was sitting at a piano in Oxford, of all places, harmonizing and song writing with Ruby Sheridan’s daughter… and even that was unimportant. What was already far more important to her than that was this: she had made Donna smile. And after the first real smile nearly made her heart stop, Tanya realized that a very great many things would be worth it, just to make Donna keep smiling at her just like she was doing now.

* * *

“Whoa! Hot plate, coming through! Watch out!”

Rosie looked up, a smile already camping out on her face at the sound of Donna’s voice. Moments later when the aforementioned hot plate landed on the table in front of her and Donna slid onto the bench across from her, that smile took up permanent residence. There was just something about Donna. She was a force of nature and completely undeniable. They’d run into each other at this pub twice more after the first time before Donna proclaimed it fate and insisted that they make a tradition of it. And so it went. Every Friday evening after their classes were over, they met at the pub for supper, and Rosie introduced Donna to every dish that she didn’t think would be found in America. Tonight’s dish-of-the-week was a callback to that first meeting—shepherd’s pie. Donna had only had that one small taste the first time, and besides, it was Rosie’s favorite.

A few minutes—and more than a few highly obscene noises from Donna—later, Rosie finally found enough of a lull in their respective chewing to ask what Donna had been up to lately. It was as close as she would allow herself to get to asking why Donna had nearly missed their pub night the week before. She’d shown up so late that Rosie had already gotten through dinner and two pints. Donna had been all apologies, to be sure, and Rosie had forgiven her before she’d barely gotten the first one out, but still… the imagined betrayal had stung more than Rosie had expected, given she’d only known Donna for a couple of months. But they were past that now, and Rosie was going to let it go--unless she didn’t like Donna’s answer to her question.

“Oh! Right. I was actually going to tell you about that last week, but it was so late, and I didn’t get a chance. I’m starting a Girl Group!”

“A Girl group? Like the Girl Guides?”

“You mean the Girl Scouts?”

“No, the Girl Guides.”

Donna put one hand to her temple and raised the other in a silent plea for Rosie to stop. Ten times more confused than she’d been at the beginning, Rosie did. Donna took a deep breath, then let out, lowering her hands as she did so. “I mean a girl _singing_ group.”

“Oh!” Rosie paused then, unsure whether she liked that answer or not. If Donna was forming a singing group, then—as evidenced by last week—she would have less time for Rosie. And that didn’t suit Rosie at all. Donna wasn’t just Rosie’s best friend at Oxford; Donna was her _only_ friend at Oxford. Still, being unsupportive wasn’t exactly a best friend-ly thing to do, was it? “That’s… that’s great?”

Donna’s entire mien lightened at that, and Rosie knew she’d given the right answer, no matter how much it had pained her to do it. Donna leaned forward, reaching out to take one of Rosie’s hands in hers. “Right? I’m so excited about it; we were trying to think of a place we could play in, and I was actually thinking of talking to the pub owner to see how he felt about us playing here. What do you think?”

What did Rosie think? What did she _think_? She thought that was a terrible idea. First rehearsing this girl group had shaken up their Friday night tradition and now it was going to take over their place? But she was a supportive friend and she couldn’t _say_ that. “Are… are you sure that would work? I mean, this isn’t really a proper music venue, is it? The acoustics are probably terrible.”

“Ah. Good point.” Donna frowned for a moment, but her face brightened again quickly. “See? This is why we need you. You never forget about the practical side of things.” When Rosie’s jaw dropped at that—really, she couldn’t help it—Donna’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, shoot. I guess I skipped that part. Rosie, do you want to be in my girl group?”

Did Rosie want to be in Donna’s girl group? As if she’d ever wanted anything more. She was so overcome, in fact, that all she could manage to do was nod. And sniffle. And laugh a bit. God, emotions were exhausting, especially when you were feeling that many of them at once. But Donna, clever Donna, she understood. Smiling a soft smile, she pulled Rosie’s hand up to her cheek and leaned into it. “Oh, Rosie. My Rosie. You didn’t think I’d forgotten you, did you? You were my first real friend here. Of course, I want you to be a part of this.” She paused then, eyes narrowing momentarily before widening innocently. “Only… you can sing, right?”

* * *

“So… you’re Rosie?”

“And you’re Tanya.”

Donna looked back and forth between her two friends, staying well out of it as they sized each other up. She hadn’t wanted to let on, but she’d been nervous ever since deciding to bring them both together. She didn’t have a lot of experience with groups of friends—her mother had always moved them around too much for that—but somehow, she’d had a feeling about these two. They fit. They both fit with her, and she had a feeling they’d fit just as well with each other, if they could each give the other a chance.

Eventually, Rosie stopped frowning and held out her hand. As they shook, Rosie’s face softened, cheeks dimpling as she smiled. “It’s good to know your name, finally. It’s only been months.”

Tanya laughed, rich and sultry. It was a practiced laugh, sure, but everything about Tanya was practiced. She was a woman who left nothing to chance. Donna had figured that out about her within a day of meeting her. “I thought you looked familiar. The little fresher I helped cross the street during 0th week.”

Rosie spluttered for a moment, but eventually subsided with a grumbled: “As if you’re not a fresher, yourself. But, fine. I suppose that’s fair. Bloody bicyclists. They’re all insane. One almost ran me down again just last week!”

Donna stepped in then, before the discussion could veer too far off the rails. “So, if that’s all settled… Rosie, did you have a chance to look at the music?”

An eyeroll was the only answer Donna received to that question.

“OK, OK. I’ll take your word for it. So… on three, then?”

And on three… they made music. It was everything Donna had always imagined it could be. The harmonies, the descants, the way their three voices blended into something so much bigger than any one of them could have been on their own. It was every reason why she’d never understood her mother’s clinging to a solo career. Why would you ever want to sing alone when you could sing like this?

When the song finished, they three stood there for a moment, breathing hard, taking it in. Eventually Tanya let out an extended sigh. “Well. That’s one for the books, wouldn’t you say, girls?”

Rosie, too overcome to say anything, as per usual, just nodded frantically up and down. Donna pulled her into a tight hug, resolutely ignoring it when she felt the shirt against her shoulder grow wet. As she reached out her hand to Tanya as well, she said, “One for the books? Absolutely. That was dynamite!”

Rosie picked up her head at that, sniffled once or twice for good measure before asking, “What did you say?”

“What? Dynamite?”

Rosie snapped her fingers, a wide smile breaking through the tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Yes! That was it. Our girl group is going to need a name, right? Our girl _power_ group is going to need a name.”

Donna breathed it out. “The Dynamites… I like it!”

Tanya poked Donna in the side, a small smirk on her face as she suggested: “Donna and the Dynamites. This whole thing was your idea. Besides, there’s no question who the star of this little show is going to be. We should put the top billing where it’s going to do the most good for us, don’t you think?”

Only Rosie was frowning again, one finger tapping against her chin. “No… something about that doesn’t sound right.”

Donna was about to chime in to agree—putting her name above everyone else’s was just plain ridiculous, really—when Rosie snapped her fingers again and said, “I’ve got it! Donna and the Dynamites just doesn’t flow quite right. How about Donna and the Dyna _mos_?”

“Donna and the Dynamos?” Tanya’s smirk widened out into a true smile. “Genius. I love it.”

Donna reached out to take each of her friends’ hands. “You’re sure about this?”

In answer, Tanya and Rosie shared a brief look, before breaking back into song.

_”Tonight the super trouper beams are gonna blind me_  
_But I won't feel blue_  
_Like I always do  
'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you.”_

By the third line, Donna was laughing, and by the fourth she’d joined in. By the time they’d reached the end of the chorus for a second time, they were holding tightly to each other, just as lost in the music as they’d been the first time. Donna could only hope that in the future, they would never tire of this, never tire of each other. Donna and the Dynamos, the world’s first girl power group. It had a lovely ring to it, and Donna intended to wear it for as long as she could.


End file.
